mint

this is not Seamus Heaney’s "mint."

his grows low to the ground and has

the scent of earth in its veins.

the mint I know by heart is a mint

known by the sheer numbers of them, enough

to accommodate the interiors five times over.

these are the mints of the working class,

mints for the masses who labor by day,

some at the bobbins of the sweltering thread mills, others

on the weary road paving the way to a fundamental security.

here are the mints powered by sugar, colored by industry,

set to be seen by visitors to the house, and presented there

to the benefit of its company.

Seamus Heaney's "mint" is found where he kneels to the soil

to snip it, to smell it, to present his findings for my benefit

and for the benefit of other mint-obsessed poets.